


The Seventh Annual Weasley White Erumpet Gift Exchange

by RonsGirlFriday



Series: Perfectly Imperfect Percy [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Ensemble Cast, Family, Friendship, Gen, Holidays, Humor, Muggle Culture, One Big Happy Weasley Family (Harry Potter), POV Third Person Omniscient, Weasley Family-centric (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:53:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28231977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonsGirlFriday/pseuds/RonsGirlFriday
Summary: You are cordially invited to the annual Weasley White Erumpet Gift Exchange.Rules:1. Bring a gift if you want a gift2. Make it weird, or make it drinkable3. No kids4. If you touch it, you open it5. Stealing is encouraged6. NO KIDS7. The best liquor will be sacrificed for a very special toastNo erumpets or Weasleys were harmed in the making of this one-shot.(Except for Percy, who might have a rough morning.)
Relationships: Angelina Johnson/George Weasley, Audrey Weasley/Percy Weasley, Bill Weasley & Charlie Weasley & George Weasley & Ginny Weasley & Percy Weasley & Ron Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Series: Perfectly Imperfect Percy [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543966
Comments: 15
Kudos: 46





	The Seventh Annual Weasley White Erumpet Gift Exchange

George had never _needed_ an excuse to throw a party — but then again, it didn’t hurt to have one.

It was hard to say, after so many years, who’d first learned about this curious Muggle festivity; but they’d all embraced it, the Weasley clan, with an enthusiasm unnervingly approaching their father’s affinity for batteries.

Sure, the very first time they’d gathered for this game, the entire pursuit had taken about six hours, with a great deal of questions, argument, and profanity concerning the rules of play. But in the years since, it had become a favorite tradition for brothers and sister, partners, and a few select friends (but no parents, and — the most sacred of all rules — _definitely_ no kids).

This particular year, that rule was working out to one person’s benefit especially.

“Finally!” exclaimed George when Bill and Fleur strolled out of the fireplace and into the general chaos. “What’s taken you so long?”

“ _Hullo, Bill, how are you?_ ” Bill drew off his scarf as Fleur kissed George on the cheek. “Only come from bleeding France, haven’t we? Had to get the kids situated at Mum’s, couldn’t get her tentacles off us.”

George took their coats and inclined his head towards the kitchen. “Well, you’re missing all the fun. Percy’s off his face.”

“What?”

“Yeah.” A burst of laughter sounded from somewhere behind George. “Behold a man whose in-laws agreed to keep the kids overnight.”

Granted, one of the quintessential hallmarks of being smashed — talking overly loudly, and at great length about things nobody else cared about — was par for sober Percy anyway; and being pushy and obnoxious simply ran in the family. But those closest to him knew what to look for.

“What madness is he up to? Dropping his T’s?” asked Bill, recalling the last time any of them had seen Percy trollied, which had to have been at least five years prior.

“All over the place. And hitting his R’s with all the subtlety of a Bludger. Ain’t that right, Perce?” George called over his shoulder in the general direction of the din.

“ ‘Zackly!” was the enthusiastic response from Percy, who for the past half hour had been lapsing into the West Country diction he’d spent the better part of his life trying to hide.

“We’re not _that_ late,” Bill observed with amusement, checking his watch. “How’d he get like this already?”

“Well, give him a break, he only weighs about eight stone. Here, set your presents next to the tree with the rest and come say hi.”

The last to have arrived, it took Bill and Fleur several minutes to make their way through the room, stopping every few feet to exchange kisses and handshakes — with Harry, Ginny, and Neville chatting by the tree; with Ron and Hermione sat cozily together on the sofa; with Luna, clad in a dress that looked to be made entirely of tinsel, and Lee Jordan and his partner Tony, atop whose head were perched a set of reindeer antlers.

In the kitchen they found George had rejoined Angelina, Audrey, Percy, and Charlie. Fleur made a beeline for the witches and gratefully accepted a glass of champagne held out to her by Angie, whose long braids had festive bits of red and gold woven throughout.

Percy and Charlie were conversing animatedly within reaching distance of a table stacked high with snacks and sweets, and when an emphatic comment from Percy about “psychological warfare” made itself heard, George looked to Audrey.

“Who’s using psychological warfare?”

She swallowed a bit of chocolate tart. “Molly.”

“Oh.” Unfazed, Bill shrugged at George. “Well, what’s new about that?”

“No,” Audrey laughed. “Not your mum. He means our Molly.”

“Ah, bless him, then, we’ll let him have his night. Are you Flooing this idiot home or leaving him on George’s floor?”

“Er, no,” interjected George before she could answer. “I’ll Floo him home myself if I have to. Drunk Percy may be precious, but hungover Percy can fuck right off.”

“Right off!” agreed Percy, with no context whatsoever, before turning his attention back to Charlie.

“Water, my love,” instructed Audrey; she let out an amused sigh when he magicked a glass of water over to her a few seconds later.

True to form, as a result of tremendous focus, dedication, and frankly trying a bit too hard, Percy had simply peaked early on this particular evening; but after another hour and a half, everyone else was more or less on the level. Music and drinks flowed, proper ornament placement was debated, Tony was a good enough sport to join Luna in some bizarre dance, and everyone took part in the biannual ritual of reminding Ron what shit taste he had in Quidditch teams. Ginny regaled the group with a vivid account of how she’d — yet again — had to explain to their dad that, no, there were no actual erumpets (nor elephants, for that matter) at a White Erumpet Party — neither as gifts nor as attendees.

When it came time to start the main event, it was rather like herding kneazles.

“All right,” called out George when the lot were assembled in the cozy sitting room, squashed up together on sofas, chairs, and cushions on the floor. “Do we need to go over the rules, or does everybody here already know how it works? Only been doing this for half a decade, haven’t we?”

“Well, erm — ” Lee raised a tentative hand before gesturing to his partner, who smiled apologetically. “Tony here has never done one of these.”

“That’s all right.” The assurance came from Ron, who was reclined easily on the sofa with a glass in one hand and Hermione tucked under the other arm. “Got to go through the rules anyway because Charlie cheats.” He gestured the accusation with his drink as Hermione and Angelina made sounds of agreement.

It was Bill who responded before Charlie could deliver a retort.

“In fairness, doesn’t the concept of cheating presume that one knows the rules and consciously disregards them?”

The merits of this statement _vis a vis_ the issue at hand were debated for about five minutes before George let out a sharp whistle that cut through the escalating din.

“All right, look.” He began to walk about the room proffering a Father Christmas hat from which everyone drew slips of paper. “Everyone take a number. Number one goes first, pick a present, open it. When two comes next, they can pick a new present or steal from number one, who then has to take another. And on and on we go. For those who have trouble with the concept, three comes next.”

At that, he threw a meaningful look at Ginny, who protested, “Why are you looking at _me?_ ” She punctuated this by brandishing a toy Beater’s bat belonging to Roxy that she’d found sticking out from under the sofa.

“You know why I’m looking at you.”

“Our numbers are interchangeable.” She gestured between herself and Harry. “It’s all going to the same place!”

The merits of this and the issue of spousal strategizing were hotly negotiated for another several minutes until George once again took control.

“Oi! Yes, you can steal from your partner, because if we start treating partners as one person that gets into a lot of politics I really don’t want to sort out at Christmas.”

The hat now being empty, George jammed it unceremoniously onto Percy’s head. The latter, sat on the floor, protested, “Hair!” but didn’t actually remove the hat.

“But,” continued George, “you can’t steal something back immediately after it’s taken from you, you’ve got to take something else in between. And each thing can only be stolen three times and then it’s done — ”

“Three?” interjected Percy, straightening the hat atop his head with some assistance from Audrey. “No, it’s two!”

“We’re changing it this year.”

“Why?”

“Three’s better,” explained Bill, without really explaining anything at all.

“S’going to take bleddy forever!” Percy indicated the assembled group.

“Have another drink, Perce,” suggested Bill.

Percy raised his eyebrows. “There’s a thought! Oh, I’m number one, but hang on a minute.” He scrambled to his feet and disappeared into the kitchen.

Ginny sighed impatiently. “Why don’t you just Summon — Oh,” she finished as Audrey displayed Percy’s confiscated wand with a knowing little smile before tucking it back into her sleeve.

Percy returned with a cocktail for himself and champagne for Audrey, who rewarded him with an appreciative kiss, prompting George to remark, “I’m gonna be sick. Get a move on, H.B.”

After a moment’s careful study of the assembled offerings, Percy reached for a tall, slim box wrapped in red and green striped paper.

“Amateur move,” Ron snorted as soon as Percy had touched it (thus, per the rules, preventing him changing his mind).

Angelina agreed. “If it looks like liquor, it’s not.”

To everyone’s collective shock, it was indeed liquor — though, they soon learned with glee, not a very good one. In fact, it was a famously bad one. Percy’s face fell as he drew from the box a bottle labeled _Hag’s Reserve Gin._ Charlie chuckled wickedly, leaving little doubt as to who had brought it.

George was next, and he paused a mere three seconds before taking the gift Percy had just unwrapped.

“Seriously?” asked a bewildered Percy as George returned to his own seat, making some quip about “terroir” and looking far too cheerful for someone who’d just ended up with something more commonly referred to as “Gag Reflex Gin.”

Having been deprived of his gift, Percy now selected a replacement — a gold bag overflowing with tissue paper with silver and gold stars that actually twinkled. He pulled from the bag far more sheets of paper than should have actually fit into it, before reaching the gift at the bottom — a small jar — and studying it with amusement.

“What is it?” asked Angelina.

Percy ignored her, unscrewing the cap and taking a careful sniff of the jar’s contents, delighted surprise creeping across his face. Audrey pulled the jar towards her own nose.

“Oh, that’s lovely!” Her cheeks turned a bit pink. “ _Ever-burning Amortentia Candle_ ,” she read off the label.

“I’m three,” announced Hermione, leaning over and holding out her hand expectantly for the candle. Percy looked a bit miffed but handed it over with its gift bag, which Hermione nestled in her lap with an air of satisfaction.

“All right…” Percy rubbed at the back of his neck as he pondered the gift options for the third time in as many minutes, eventually selecting a large box wrapped somewhat inexpertly in red paper with green ribbon.

No sooner had he unwrapped and begun to open the box than a small, green, leafy tendril poked its way curiously out of the opening and prodded at Percy’s hand.

“What the hell is that?!” Percy fell backwards as the vine flicked a… tongue?... from a bud at the end like a bizarre little snake.

“It’s a _serpentium amicissi!_ ” said Neville with a look of exasperation. “It’s quite friendly!”

This became rather obvious, rather quickly, as another little tendril of the plant crept up towards Percy’s face and poked at his ear as his attention was diverted to Neville.

“I beg your pardon,” Percy addressed the plant, “do I _know_ you?”

Where the previous two gifts had caused a smattering of giggles in the group, a chuckle now rolled through the room until George, pink in the cheeks and sniggering into his hand, regained his composure enough to call for whomever had number four. Ron released a heavy sigh, passing a contemplative hand over his mouth and exchanging a look with George — dubious on Ron’s part, insistent on George’s.

“This is brilliant, Neville,” said Ron in a voice that was almost convincing as he took the box with the plant from Percy, before snapping, “Get off me!” as the plant eagerly turned its affections towards its new master.

Percy, who had begun to open his mouth, apparently thought better of whatever he was about to say, but he threw a suspicious look around the room before selecting another present: a tall, thin bag.

“No…” he protested in a voice full of dreadful comprehension as he began to draw something burgundy and distinctly woolen from the bag. It was tightly rolled, and halfway through unfurling it he insisted, “Oh, come on!”

“How — ” his voice was nearly drowned out by the raucous laughter that overtook the room when he turned the jumper around to display the “P” on the front — “could you possibly’ve known who was going to get this? Who did this?”

Harry, mid-drink, spat ale all over himself. Ron buried his face in Hermione’s hair, sniggering uncontrollably. Angelina was laughing heartily and even Fleur was giggling behind her hand.

“What’s the P for?” wondered Luna.

“Ponce,” said Charlie, standing a short distance behind Percy; the latter did not bother to turn around but displayed two fingers in response.

“Alright, alright.” George cleared his throat. “Who’s got five?”

“Oh, that’s me,” said Harry, vaguely regarding the slip of paper in his hand. “Erm…”

He craned his neck to view the wrapped gifts still assembled under the tree, until Ginny elbowed him in the side and gave him a pointed look.

“It doesn’t even make any sense,” he argued to her. “It’s not my initial.”

Ginny nudged him again, and with a sigh Harry lost whatever silent argument they held with their eyes.

“I’ll have that, Percy,” he said, indicating the jumper. “Chuck it here. Shut up,” he added to a chortling Ron.

Harry caught the knitted mass thrown to him by Percy, unfurling it to display… the initial “H.” Another burst of laughter sounded throughout the room, George and Ron clinking their glasses together as Harry stared at his new jumper.

“Hey,” said Percy, straightening his hat once again, “that’s good magic. What is that, a Protean Charm crossed with a Repetitive Cataloguing Spell?” He shook his head as if rousing himself from a fog. “But how’djou get past the Credentialing Conundrum without breaking the Law of — ”

“If I had anything to do with that,” interrupted George, “and you can’t prove I did, I would say it was trade secrets.”

“Come on, Percy, get to the next one,” urged Ginny.

“Why?” Percy had cottoned on to what was happening. “So you can steal it? You number six, then?”

Ginny did not reply, but watched apprehensively as Percy decided upon a smallish green box. She glared at Harry, who had inexplicably begun chuckling.

Removing the lid, Percy peered inside, a perplexed expression on his face. Cautiously, he reached his hand into the box and continued reaching until his arm was in up to his shoulder.

“If there’s nothing in here I’m — oh, hang on — ” The box expanded in size as Percy stuck his head inside along with his arm, the better to retrieve whatever was at the bottom. His Santa hat was knocked off in the process; Audrey plucked it off the floor and placed it on her own head.

“Quick, someone push him in,” said Bill as Percy set the box on the floor and disappeared inside it up to his waist.

“Here ‘tis!” exclaimed Percy, his voice muffled. “Aw, just what I’ve always wanted!”

“Swift kick in the arse?” offered Charlie helpfully.

With some difficulty and glasses askew, Percy began to extract himself and the present from the box, revealing that he had become the unwitting recipient of the customary gift from Harry.

What had started as a one-off joke had become a tradition, growing more elaborate by the year, and Percy emerged with a larger-than-life-sized, autographed portrait of Harry Potter in a rather ornate frame, as the guilty party sat chuckling quietly to himself.

Then Harry turned to his wife. “Well, then, Number Six?”

Ginny glared back at him before marching haughtily up to Percy and claiming the gift.

“I mean,” said Lee, “haven’t you already got one, though?”

“She has,” replied Harry. “But she won’t admit it.”

“All right, look,” protested Charlie as Percy moved on eagerly to opening his next present. “I did not come halfway around the world to watch _Percy_ get fifteen Christmases — ”

“Yes!” interrupted Percy. The apparent conspiracy to steal every single gift he opened had worked out largely in his favor up until now, and he extracted a bottle of excellent whiskey. But his jubilation was short-lived.

“I’m sorry, mate,” ventured Tony — also known as number seven — taking the bottle from Percy’s fingers.

“Look at that.” George _tsk_ ed in appreciation as Lee’s arm snaked back around Tony’s waist. “You fit right in, you do. Lee, we’ll keep him.”

A somewhat dejected Percy grabbed the closest gift bag and tore the paper from it without ceremony. A rare sort of expletive escaped from him as he drew a second woolen jumper from the bag, complete with — yes — the initial “P.” George and Ron were laughing so hard they could scarcely breathe.

Charlie, number eight, flatly refused to follow suit and steal the jumper from Percy.

“No way,” he insisted. “If my calculations are right, I’ve got about thirty-seven of those.”

“To be fair,” countered George, “the older ones probably don’t fit you so well anymore.”

“Bollocks.” Charlie peered into a blue bag he’d selected, and extracted the two latest Sickleback albums with a look of chagrin. “Should have taken the jumper.”

“Awful,” remarked Angelina as everyone else murmured their assent — everyone except for Luna, who informed them that the lead singer, Thad Kowalski, was one of only four known survivors of a Wesselwump attack.

When George called for number nine, Audrey raised a demure hand and paused for a moment’s thought. Percy’s benevolent wife faced an interesting decision: leave him with what was approximately his thirty-third Weasley jumper (when he would certainly be receiving yet another one from his mum on Christmas day), or join everyone else in taking the mickey out of him by stealing it.

She tapped her fingers against her lips, assessing the remaining pile of presents, until she seemed to sense a pair of eyes on her. When she glanced sideways at her husband, she — along with everyone else there — saw something that most people in this world would never witness.

Percy was _pouting._

With an indulgent laugh, Audrey said, “Let’s have it, then.”

Percy beamed, handed over the jumper, which promptly switched its initial to “A,” and then took back the whiskey from Tony with a breezy apology. Tony shrugged and unwrapped a strange, orange toy gun.

“Brilliant!” Tony, whose mother was a Muggle, loaded one of the accompanying soft foam projectiles into the gun. “My cousin had one of these. Muggle toy.” He fired it at Angelina, hitting her in the arm, the dart falling harmlessly to the floor.

Ron’s eyes brightened. “Wicked!”

Bill, next in line, tapped Percy on the shoulder and held out his hand for the whiskey as Percy gaped, affronted.

“ _That’s_ why three steals is better,” remarked Bill as he appraised his spoils appreciatively, the last rightful owner of that gift.

Percy studied the next present he opened — a set of books with bright covers — with a curious look.

“What is it?” asked Neville.

“Get this,” said Ron, still trying to shield himself from his affectionate potted plant, “it’s a set of Muggle books about a kid who’s a wizard. Or what they think wizards are like, anyway.”

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever…” Percy trailed off, his lips moving silently as he perused the back cover of one, before flipping to the first page and beginning to read.

Things devolved into general bedlam when Luna broke rank and nicked the jumper from Audrey (promptly and proudly slipping it on over her dress to display the “L”); Audrey swiped Ron’s plant (she thought it was fun); and Ron took Tony’s toy gun and immediately launched an assault upon Harry.

By the time Fleur, Lee, Neville, and Angelina had initiated new swaps and selections, Ron had begun acquainting himself with a Muggle novelty he’d pinched from Fleur when Lee stole back Tony’s gun — a cube made up of different colored blocks that you twisted and turned to try to align the same color on each side.

And Percy was deeply immersed in the tale of _Wally Bricklebart and the Magickal Seven._

“They all get to school on brooms!” he muttered, oblivious to the fact that Angelina was now selecting the last, lone gift from under the tree. “Jesus, what an air traffic nightmare, can you even imagine?”

“What the…” Angie produced a fistful of plastic cassettes from within the bag.

“Muggle records,” George observed with interest. “Old ones, too.” He looked to Harry as if for confirmation.

“Yeah,” Harry affirmed, taking one from Angie. He studied it front and back before laughing and tossing it back to her. “Looks like they’re blank, too.”

“Well, there’s Dad’s gift sorted,” said George cheerfully. “Think we’ve officially found the most shit present this year, well done.”

Bill saluted him in response.

“Don’t know about that,” responded Percy, not once tearing his eyes from the page he was on. “This book is so bad it’s actually starting to sober me up.”

“It’s a kids’ book, Perce,” said Charlie.

“It’s inaccurate, is what it is!”

“Anyway,” Charlie turned to George, “I’ll see your blank Muggle records and raise you…” He held up the Sickleback albums and headed for the record player across the room. “Which’ll it be, _Thestral_ or _Sickle Side Out?_ ”

Audrey looked up in alarm. “Oh, God, someone stop him.”

Lee obliged by firing foam darts at Charlie in rapid succession, and Angelina took the opportunity to put the Christmas music back on before inviting everyone to more dessert.

“Bugger it!” A frustrated Ron chucked his multicolored cube across the room, having managed to align all squares except one on each side.

“Thinking next year I’ll have to work out how to make it talk,” Harry was saying to Neville, tilting his head towards his portrait.

“Salacious lies!” exclaimed Percy amidst all of this, still engrossed in his book.

“Oi, you all know the rules!” shouted George, gaining everyone’s attention once more. “Everybody who got the good stuff, hold it up, go on.” He lifted his bottle of gin in the air demonstratively.

“ _That’s_ definitely not the good stuff,” remarked Bill, hoisting his own bottle of whiskey as Tony and Neville followed suit with the bottles of wine they’d each ended the game with.

“No,” agreed George, looking around at the beverages yielded by that year’s game. “I think it’s you, mate.”

“Think it is.” Bill opened his bottle obligingly — the night’s best quality offering — and began pouring out a measure into each of fifteen tumblers conjured by George.

“Here you go, pass it along.” George distributed glasses until all in attendance had a drink in their hands. “Don’t worry, if you don’t fancy whiskey, Percy’ll finish it for you.”

“ _George._ ” With a whisper and a motion that might have been discreet had everybody not already been looking at him, Percy waved his hand frantically in front of his throat in a ‘cut’ gesture.

“What?”

“I just…” Percy leaned towards George and said in an obliviously loud whisper, “I think I might be pissed already.”

“No one can tell, mate.” George clapped him on the shoulder.

“No?”

“No.”

Mollified, Percy joined everyone in raising his glass. Without need for further discussion, a hush had fallen over the group, and a few thoughtful seconds’ silence passed — except for the low tinkle of music in the background — before Bill began to speak; his voice filled the space between and around them, low but composed, wistful but assuring.

“I drink to those who do, and I drink to those who don’t — ”

With a grin, Charlie interjected, “But never the ones who say they will and later decide they won’t.”

Ron chimed in, “But the ones I’ll toast from the break of day to the wee hours of the night — ”

“Are the the ones who say, ‘I never have, but just for you I might,’” finished Ginny, misty-eyed.

“To a gentleman,” offered Percy, his voice tight.

“A scholar,” said Hermione with a bit of a teary giggle.

“A good judge of bad jokes,” declared Lee.

“The ones who never really left us,” Harry murmured.

An appreciative, irrepressible smile had crept over George’s face, and with Angelina leaning her head against his, and the fingers of their free hands twined together, he concluded, “Happy Christmas, Freddie.”

Fourteen voices concurred.

“Happy Christmas, Fred.”  


**Author's Note:**

> This is, of course, the wizard version of a White Elephant Gift Exchange. I think it's a primarily American thing (??) but would at least be known to some Brits and has caught on in different places. Charlie's line about "I didn't come here to watch Percy get 15 Christmases" was inspired by an actual White Elephant party I went to once.
> 
> Everburning Amortentia Candles are Maria(tatapb)'s brilliant idea.
> 
> Thanks to Kris (grumpy cat) for a suggestion she made for the name of Neville's plant, which I ultimately worked into the name I used here.
> 
> Moderate offense meant to Nickelback; I actually do love post-grunge myself.


End file.
